Survivor's Guilt
by GreyJedi
Summary: It's the summer leading up to third grade. Erol feels on top of the world when, a week before school goes back, something happens that will change his life forever.
1. Spaghetti Sauce

Right, so, I've started working on Erol's past. There was a fair bit of interest in knowing what had happened to him before A Family Ripped and Torn. Now, after much deliberation and procrastination, I have the first chapter in what should be, at most, a four chapter story. I attempted to do the final editing on this one myself, I don't know if I managed to catch everything, but I'm hoping I did. For the record, this ties in somewhat to A Family Ripped and Torn, there are a few references to events from that one, if anyone is confused I encourage you to either ask me or to go read the other fic if you haven't already.

Erol is Naughty Dog's, his parents are mine.

* * *

Sola heard the front door slam and she smiled in spite of herself, no matter how many times she told Erol not to slam the door, he did.

"Hi, Mom!" the boy shouted from the front landing. He noisily kicked off his shoes and walked into the kitchen, grinning broadly at his mother.

Sola couldn't help but smile back at him, "Hi, honey, did you have fun?" she asked.

Erol nodded vigorously, "It was awesome, me and Torn just played the whole time. We didn't even have to look after Ripp, his mom was feeling good enough to do it today," the redheaded boy paused, "Torn wants me to come over again tomorrow, I can, can't I, Mom?"

"Of course you can," Sola suddenly looked contemplative, "We need to go back-to-school shopping sometime; how about we go the day after tomorrow?" she suggested, knowing full well that she had final say.

Erol shrugged. "Sure." He glanced around the kitchen rather disinterestedly. Sola turned to stare out the kitchen window, gazing up at the blue sky; she loved it when the sun was out. "Mom?"

"Hmm?" she didn't bother turning around.

"What's for dinner?"

"Well, I was thinking spaghetti," she looked over her shoulder at her son, "Sound good?"

Erol gave her a skeptical look. "Are you going to make your sauce?" he asked hopefully.

"Of course."

The boy nodded enthusiastically, "Can I help?"

Sola pointed to the exit of the kitchen. "Not like that, you're filthy. Go wash up and then you can help."

"But, Mom," Erol sulked, "I don't want to."

"Scoot."

"But..."

"No buts. Get."

"Mom..."

"Today, Erol."

Erol sighed, defeated, "Fine." He shot his mother an unhappy glance before slinking out of the kitchen. He walked into the bathroom and turned on the tap. He let the water run over his fingers for about ten seconds before turning off the tap and drying his hands on a towel.

Erol walked back into the kitchen where his mother was filling a pot with water, she finished and set it on the stove to boil.

Sola gave her son a scrutinizing glance, "You were fast," she said, "Are you above using soap or something?"

The boy squirmed under his mother's gaze, "I, um..."

Sola laughed, "So you didn't use soap. I should have known."

Erol turned his brown eyes up to look at her. "How did-"

"Call it a hunch, and you just proved me right," Sola took a damp dishcloth from the sink, beckoning Erol closer. The boy eased forward slowly. "Hands," Sola commanded. Her son hesitated before extending his hands to her, palm up. She crouched down and deftly used the dishcloth to clean his fingers before moving on to wipe his face. Erol wrinkled his nose and made a sour expression at his mother. "Oh honestly, if you'd done this yourself," Sola muttered.

"Mom," Erol whined, "Quit it. I can wash my own face!" he insisted.

"Apparently you can't. Now hold still," Sola mock scolded. She pulled the cloth away from him. "There, now I can see your beautiful face."

Erol rolled his eyes, "You could see my face anyways Mom."

Sola flicked her son gently in the nose, "Anyway," she corrected automatically.

"Anyway what?"

"Anyway, there's no's,' Erol."

He stuck his tongue out at her. "Anyways," he glanced around the kitchen, "Have you started the sauce yet?"

"No, I haven't had the chance to."

"Well what are you waiting for?!" Erol asked indignantly.

Sola laughed, "Go grab the tomato paste from the pantry so we can start."

"Okay!" Erol grinned before dashing off to go get the tomato paste.

Sola stood and walked over to the counter to get out the can opener and a second pot. She wordlessly took the can from Erol when he brought it to her. The thick red liquid went into the pot with a '_splat_' before Sola set it on the stove, handing Erol a wooden spoon. "Let me know when the water starts to boil," she instructed, leaving Erol to watch the stove while she went to choose her spices from the pantry.

"Mom?" Erol asked from where he stood on a kitchen chair he'd dragged to the stove.

Sola looked back at him, "Yes, honey?"

"What do I do with this?" he asked, brandishing the wooden spoon like a lethal weapon.

"Stir the sauce, don't let it burn."

"But it's not sauce yet, it's just red mush."

"Stir it anyway, it can still burn."

"Fine, though it's still not sauce," Erol said, "Mom, what do I stir the water with?"

Sola rolled her eyes, "You don't; just let me know when it boils."

Erol nodded, "Gotcha," he replied before turning to give the tomato paste the evil eye and childishly threaten it while brandishing the spoon again.

Sola smiled and went back to selecting her seasonings. Choosing five spice bottles she closed the pantry door and walked over to where Erol stood on his chair, happily stirring the sauce with a vigor that sent it flying all over the counter and backsplash. Sola set down the spice bottles and reached out to grab the eight-year-old by the wrist.

"Erol, honey, you're splashing. You don't need to go that fast, you're just making a mess now."

Erol grinned at his mother, "I know. Great, isn't it?"

"Erol," Sola chided, she was about to continue when she was interrupted by the rattling and clanking of the lid on the pot of water as its contents boiled. She reached over and removed the lid, setting it on the counter.

Erol smirked, saying, "I think the water's boiling now," he waited a moment before attempting to continue stirring the sauce in the hopes that the slight distraction had caused his mother to loosen her grip. She hadn't. She still had a firm grasp on his wrist, "Let go of me, I can't stir it!" he cried in childish indignation.

"Don't splash." Sola said firmly releasing him and crouching down to get the uncooked pasta from the cupboard.

* * *

About fifteen minutes later. The spaghetti and sauce were both done and Erol began pestering Sola to start dinner.

"Come on, please?" he begged.

"Not until your father gets home, be patient. I don't think he's going to be much longer."

Erol shot her a sulky glare, "But I don't want to wait."

"He'll probably only be another couple minutes, you'll survive." Sola gave Erol a look of false sympathy, "Why don't you go set the table?"

Erol scowled, "No."

It wasn't more than five minutes later when the front door opened and Erol's father, Buir, walked in. He dropped his briefcase by the door.

"Dad's home!" Erol cheerily told Sola, a grin spread wide across his face.

She rolled her eyes and patted her son on the head, "I knew that."

Erol shook his head, refusing to accept that his statement had been useless, "No you didn't. I had to tell you."

Buir walked into the kitchen asking, "What did you have to tell your mother, Erol?"

"Nothing much, just that you were home," the boy replied, smirking slightly.

Buir smiled back at his son, "Well how else would she have known?" he asked jokingly.

"She wouldn't. Come on," Erol said, flicking his head at the table, "Dinner's ready!"

Sola put a hand on Erol's head, "You can wait a couple minutes for your Dad to change out of his work clothes first. Just relax for a bit would you?" Erol gave his mother a mortified 'how-can-you-do-this-to-me?' look. "I know. Sucks to be you." She told him, voice laced with fake sympathy. "Since you have nothing else to do, and you seem to need reminding, you can go set the table." Sola watched Erol slowly walk over to the cupboard to get out plates, she turned to her husband, "Welcome home, honey." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, "How was work?"

Buir sighed, "Same as always, hectic." He returned the kiss Sola had given him, "Dinner smells delicious sweetheart, what did you make?"

Sola smiled reaching up to undo Buir's tie, "Spaghetti," she pulled the tie off and handed it to her husband. "Erol helped."

He shook his head slowly, "And me with out any kind of antidote." He smiled, at his wife. "That explains Erol. I swear Sola; you mix up the equivalent of catnip for him every time you make your sauce."

"Erol-nip." She said. "And don't worry; the only thing he made was a mess."

"That sounds like Erol, couldn't be neat if his life depended on it. Yeah, Erol-nip, I think that describes the effect well enough," Buir agreed, nodding, "Well, I'd better get changed before he's driven into insanity by the smell."

Sola laughed, "Go on then," she gave her husband a gentle shove towards their bed room. She turned around and saw that Erol had nearly finished setting the table. Nearly meaning he'd just dumped the silverware in the middle of the table and left it at that. "Erol."

"Yes, Mom?" he asked innocently from where he stood by the counter.

"This isn't set properly," she told him, pointing at the small pile of cutlery.

"Well, I couldn't remember what order things went in," Erol said defensively, "Besides; I don't see anything wrong with it."

"I however, do. Come here, I'll show you," Sola motioned Erol over, "Forks go on the left, knives and spoons on the right." She explained, arranging one set of utensils around one of the plates. "Do the other two please."

Erol muttered something about 'unnecessarily complicated things' and proceeded to set the remainder of the cutlery properly. Buir reentered the kitchen as Erol finished; his work clothing had been exchanged for a simple pair of slacks and a t-shirt.

"We can eat now, _right_?" Erol asked his mother, a begging note to his voice.

She laughed, "Yes, Erol, we can eat now."

* * *

The three sat around the dinner table, quiet for the most part, Erol had wolfed down his first and was halfway through eating his second helping by the time any real conversation had started. Buir looked pointedly at his son. "So, what were you up to today?" he asked.

The redhead was about to answer his father around a mouthful of spaghetti when Sola cleared her throat loudly, "Swallow that first."

Erol did. His brown eyes met with his father's golden ones, "I hung around with Torn."

"Oh?" the man raised an eyebrow, "Did you have to watch Ripp?"

Erol shook his head, mouth once again full of noodles. He swallowed, "I have to tomorrow though. They're going school shopping." He pulled a face, "I don't want to go back to school."

"Sure you do," Buir said cheerfully, "You like school."

"Yeah right," Erol took another bite of spaghetti, now ignoring his mother's look, "It's boring," he mumbled. "I'm not going to have to do what we were doing last year, am I?"

Sola looked concerned, "What do you mean 'doing last year'?"

"Taking our homework to Torn everyday. That sucked. I hope he actually shows up this year."

"That was rough for both of you. I'm sure he won't be at home all the time this year. His mother's doing much better now though, isn't she?" Sola asked.

Erol shrugged, "It never seems to last. She's _always_ sick."

His parents exchanged troubled looks; there was no way that they could guarantee anything. Buir spoke first, "It'll be okay, Erol, you're tough." He gave the boy a hearty slap on the back and the subject of school wasn't touched again.

* * *

Comments are much appreciated. It's a much more cheery start than I tend to use on my work, I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to keep it up.


	2. No Return Address

Alright, I _really _wanted to update this fic, cause I need to have it done by spring break, otherwise I'm a failure... Okay, seriously, I wanted to update. I just finished typing it up and haven't done a really thourough typo/grammer check. I'm sorry for that. If you find a sentance that doesn't make sense or a really blatant typo or something, just give me a shout and I'll fix it. It's a bit darker now, a bit more of a familiar ground for me.

Erol and Torn are Naughty Dogs. Everyone else is mine.

* * *

The next day started off like always, with Buir heading off to work, leaving Sola and Erol for the day.

"Bye, Dad!" Erol called cheerily, waving at his father on the front landing.

"See you, Erol!" Buir replied giving his son a quick wave back before turning to his wife. "Bye, Sola, see you later."

She nodded and straightened his tie, "Try and take it easy today, okay, honey?"

He kissed her, "I will."

"Alright, I love you," Sola replied.

"I love you too." And with that Buir opened the front door and left. Sola sighed, watching him leave before casting a glance back at her son. Luckily for Erol, her distraction had given him time to compose himself after making gagging faces at his parents' actions. By the time Sola had focused on him he had a broad grin instead.

"What are you up to?" Sola asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing."

"Is that so?"

Erol nodded enthusiastically, "Yep."

She didn't buy it; she knew Erol too well and was sure that he'd just been doing something, but had no idea what. She shrugged, deciding just to drop it. "What time are you supposed to be at Torn's?"

"Ten-ish, I think," He gave a nonchalant shrug. It was still a couple hours away, a fact he was well aware of. There was silence for a moment, before Erol broke it, "I'm hungry."

Sola laughed, "You know where the kitchen is."

He fixed her with a flat stare that obviously said 'Yeah, so what?'

"Well, go on, you can get yourself breakfast," she gave him a gentle shove in the direction of the kitchen, "I'm not always going to be around to do it for you."

He stood looking at her defiantly.

"Okay then, I guess you're not that hungry."

"Fine, I'm going, I'm going."

Five minutes later Erol was in the kitchen happily gnawing on some toast. Sola was washing the dishes from her and Buir's morning meals. Setting the last plate on the drying rack she glanced at Erol before opening a cupboard to get out a glass. She filled it with milk and set it in front of her son.

"Ew!" Erol turned his brown eyes up to look at her incredulously, "Milk?" He made a gagging face.

"Drink it."

"No." He reached out and, touching as little of the glass as he could, pushed it away. Once the foul beverage was as far away from him as he could get it, Erol went back to his toast.

Sola slid it back, "Yes. I'm going to check for mail, I want it gone by the time I'm back."

Erol glared at her; that was a tall order. How long did she expect to be checking the mail? Their mailbox was just outside the front door. The moment she left the kitchen he got up, taking the milk over to the sink. Casting a wary glance at the kitchen entrance he upended the glass into the drain. He turned on a trickle of water and quickly rinsed away all traces of the vile white liquid. He then returned to the table to finish his breakfast.

Sola stood in the entranceway, the front door still open, staring at the mail in her hand. There were a couple bills and an envelope addressed to her, there was no return address. Sticking the bills in her pocket she turned the mysterious letter over and, with trembling fingers, proceeded to open it. It contained a single white piece of paper; three words were scrawled across it in a rusty red: _Time's up, Sola_.

"No," she muttered; her hand holding the paper shook violently and it slipped from her fingers, floating to the floor.

"Mom?"

Sola jumped at the sound of Erol's voice. He'd come from the kitchen after realizing his mother was taking an abnormally long time to check the mail.

"Mom, what's wrong?"

She had gone white and her brown eyes stared at her son without recognition. Utter terror marked her face.

Erol stepped backwards, "Mom?" he repeated, "Mom, you're scaring me." He noticed the paper on the floor, "What's that?" he asked pointing to it.

Sola snatched it up quickly, "Nothing. Mind your own business!" She snapped.

He took another couple of steps back. This wasn't normal. It wasn't right. What was going on? "Mom," he tried again, eyes begging her to stop acting so strangely.

She blinked, suddenly taking in reality, "Erol," she stepped forward and swept him up into a warm embrace. "I'm sorry, honey; I didn't mean to scare you."

Erol clung to her, as though afraid she might start acting weird again, "Just don't do it again," he begged.

She shook her head. A breeze blew in through the still open door, and she kissed her son's forehead before relinquishing her hold to go shut the door. She looked at him, "Go get dressed, okay, honey?"

He nodded, still rather shaken by his mother's odd behaviour, and without any argument went to his room to go get dressed.

Sola stayed on the front landing for a while longer; she looked at the letter again. On impulse she took her thumbnail and scraped at the lettering. It was crusty and flaked off. She'd never seen any ink like that before. With a wave of nausea and revulsion she realized that it wasn't ink at all.

At quarter to ten Erol walked to the front landing, his mother followed. He found his shoes and began to pull them on.

Sola smiled as she watched Erol fight a losing battle with the laces, "Do you want help with those?" she asked.

Erol scowled at his shoes, "No."

"Do you _need_ it?"

"No. I can tie my own dumb shoes." He _could_,_ normally_, they just weren't co-operating with him. Once he got them passably tied he stood up to open the front door. "Bye, Mom."

"Bye, honey, have fun," before Erol could get the door open Sola had him in a tight embrace, "Be careful, okay?"

"Yeah, okay." Erol had no idea what had gotten into his mother, he was just going to Torn's for a few hours. "Bye." He broke away and opened the door, waving a quick farewell to Sola.

She waved back and watched him go, fear settling in the pit of her stomach. Was he going to be alright? He'd been to Torn's hundreds of times and nothing had ever happened, but it was too easy for him to become complacent. She wondered if letting him go had been the right decision. Shaking her head to rid herself of such thoughts, Sola closed the door and turned to go and begin her chores for the day.

* * *

Torn had to have been waiting for Erol, before the redhead could even finish his first knock the other boy had the door open. "Hey."

"Hey."

"I thought you were going to be here earlier," Torn commented, but he shrugged it off, "Doesn't matter, Mom's not ready anyways."

Erol nodded, "My mom's acting weird today."

"Really? That sucks."

"It's freaky."

The two boys just stood there in the entrance way for a few moments. Torn glanced around, "I'm bored. You want to do anything?"

Erol shrugged, "You have to go soon, don't you?"

"Yeah, when Mom's out of the shower," he jerked his head suddenly.

"Torn wha-" Erol began, but was cut off.

Torn raised a finger, "Shh," he had a concentrated expression, "Ripp's up." He turned away from Erol, "Be back in a sec." The brown haired boy disappeared upstairs for a few moments and when he came back he had his baby brother in his arms. "See? Told you."

"Yeah, alright, fine. How'd you hear him?"

Torn was about to reply when Ripp reached up, grabbing a lock of his brother's hair in his small fist and gave it a sharp tug. Torn let out a yelp. "Erol, can you take him for a minute?"

"Sure," he held out his hands and took the infant from his friend.

Torn stuck a hand into his pocket, "I keep forgetting to do this," he removed a rubber band and pulled his hair into a messy ponytail, "He likes to pull my hair now."

Erol laughed, "Now you look like a girl."

"Yeah well…" Torn couldn't think of what to say and instead stuck his tongue out.

"Torn, what are you doing?" a woman asked, coming down the stairs to where the two boys stood. "Oh," her gaze fell on the redhead boy, "Hello, Erol."

"Hello ma'm," even after all the time he'd spent here, Erol still had no idea how to address Torn's mother.

The woman looked at Torn, "Are you ready to go?"

Torn nodded, "Yeah, see you later, Erol."

"I don't think we'll be gone long, thanks for watching Ripp."

Erol shrugged, "Anytime."

* * *

Torn and his mother really weren't long, just over an hour and a half; Erol had watched Ripp for much longer before.

Torn came into the house sporting a fairly large bag obviously containing school supplies. He dropped it by the front door and turned around to glare at his mother, "Slave driver."

She followed her son, giving him a gentle smack on the back of the head. "It could be worse."

"I don't see how," Torn grumbled, drawing a smile from Erol who had come immediately to the front door upon hearing it open, Ripp in his arms.

Torn's mother glanced at the red haired boy, "You didn't have any problems, did you?" she asked.

Erol shook his head, "No ma'm." He never had problems with Ripp.

"That's good," she returned her attention to Torn, "Go put that in your room and I'll start lunch," her pale gaze flicked back to Erol, "Would you like to stay for lunch?"

He shook his head, "No, thanks. I should probably be getting home."

Torn had started up the stairs and turned around, "You want to get together again tomorrow?" he asked hopefully.

For the third time Erol shook his head, "Can't. My mom's taking me back to school shopping."

Torn rolled his eyes, "Have fun," he said sarcastically.

"I won't." Erol replied pulling a face.

"No one does."

"Torn," his mother pointed up the stairs, "You can keep chatting in a minute, just go put that away."

The brown haired boy sighed and with another muttered, "Slave driver," proceeded up to his room.

Erol watched him go and briefly considered following him but decided against it.

"Thanks again for watching Ripp. Are you sure you don't want anything before you go?" Torn's mother asked.

Erol nodded, "I'm sure."

A moment later Torn reappeared at the top of the stairs, "Heads!" he jumped onto the banister.

His mother pointed an accusing finger at him, "Don't you dare young man!"

Torn replied by sticking his tongue out and sliding down it anyway. He landed on his feet and took a bow.

Erol would've clapped, but couldn't while holding Ripp, "Nice."

Torn smirked, "Thanks."

His mother just rolled her eyes and headed towards the kitchen.

The slightly older boy held out his hands, making a grabbing motion, "Ripp."

Erol passed the infant to his brother, "Here. I should get going. Maybe we can still do something before school goes back in."

Torn nodded, "Definitely."

"I guess I'll go then, see you later."

"Yeah. See you, Erol!"

* * *

Erol ran home, he didn't know why, but something just seemed to be telling him to be quick about it. He opened the door and slipped off his shoes without bothering to untie them. "I'm home!" He called cheerily, slamming the door behind him.

Sola seemed to appear out of nowhere, "Oh thank god!" she said, a hand over her heart.

Erol walked over and, on impulse, grabbed her in a hug, "Hi, Mom."

Sola bent down and hoisted Erol up into her arms, planting a kiss on his forehead, "How was it?"

"Fine," he replied, putting his head on her shoulder.

Kissing him again Sola put him back down; he was getting too big to hold for long. "So, what'd you do?" she asked.

Erol shrugged, "Not much, watched Ripp. Just what I always do."

She nodded and reached out to tousle his hair, "What do you want for lunch?"

"I don't know. I'm not really hungry yet."

Sola smiled, she knew he would be soon. Her thoughts were interrupted by a sound at the door and she jerked, freezing like a deer in headlights. Her brown eyes caught a quick glimpse of a group of men just outside the door.

One of the men pounded on the door, "Open up, Sola! We know you're there!"

Her breath caught and she grabbed Erol's hand, instinctively putting herself between him and the door.

"Mom?"

She turned and ran, keeping a vice like grip on her son's hand, forcing him to follow her. He didn't fight. Sola tugged Erol into her room; down the hall they could hear the sounds of the men fighting against the door. She pulled open her closet and shoved Erol inside. "Stay here." She said firmly.

"Mom, what's going on?"

She shook her head pushing him into a kneeling position, "Not now. Stay here, Erol. Do you understand me?"

He nodded.

"Do not leave this closet until your father or I say you can."

He nodded again, not understanding why he'd need Buir's permission to leave the closet; he'd still be at work for hours.

Tears were beginning to fill her eyes, "Stay quiet, don't make a sound."

Her fear was being projected onto him; his dark eyes stared at her, terror filled, as he raised his hands to his mouth.

She knelt and pulled him into a quick tight embrace. "Whatever happens, don't make a sound, and don't leave. Promise me, Erol."

"I promise." He murmured through his hands.

She kissed him on the cheek and stood up, starting to pull the closet door shut. That was when, down from the entrance way, there came the sound of splintering wood as the men at the door slammed their way through.

* * *

Again, sorry for any typos you came across during that. I'll try and update this quick as it's a cruel cliffhanger, even by my standards, and I'm notorious for them.

Review if you will. Let me know what you think, ask questions, complain...


	3. Closet Space

Okay, I needed to conclude this. I couldn't keep that cliffhanger up. I just couldn't. My beloved weapon men are back, but unfortunately, it's not a good thing.

Sola, Buir, Dagger, Scimitar, Cutlass, Katar...Oh what's the point?? I don't own Erol. That's it. He's Naughty Dog's. Everyone else is mine.

* * *

Sola let go of the closet door, leaving it open slightly. Complete fear had taken her over. She mentally begged Erol to stay put, to listen to her, just this once. The sound of combat boots filled her house as the men stomped in. She moved to her bedroom door, casting a final look at the closet.

"Where is she?"

"This way!"

The voices and footsteps were getting closer; Sola grabbed the door and tried to close it, but an arm forced its way between the door and the jamb before she could.

The man forced the door back open, calling out over his shoulder to his comrades, "I found 'er!" Sola backed away, the man entered the room. "Where's the money Sola?" he demanded.

She put her hands up defensively, "I don't have it. You know I don't have it!"

"Yeah, well, ya need to find it, don't ya?" he snarled, the other three men entering the room after him.

"I can't. You haven't given me enough time!" she pleaded.

The youngest man pulled a blade from his belt and moved forward, "You've 'ad three years! That's plenty o' time!"

Sola was running out of room to move, her eyes darted from face to face, there was no mercy in any of them. "Please!" she begged, "I need more time!"

"TIME'S UP!" The youngest man insisted, raising his knife to strike a blow.

Instinctively Sola brought her fist up to counter; the blade struck her knuckles, slicing open her hand, sending hot blood flowing down and over her fingers. She cried out.

* * *

Erol kept his hands clapped firmly over his mouth, unable to tear his eyes away from the spectacle before him. His mother against four men, even he knew that those were bad odds. He didn't know what was going on. Why were these men here? What was this money that they wanted from his mother? They had hurt her; these men had just broken into his home and hurt his mother. What did they think they were doing?

He struggled to keep down a whimper of fear; he'd promised his mother that he'd be quiet. He'd promised.

"'Ey! She got a kid don't she?" one of the other men, silent until now, asked. "I say we find 'im. 'E might 'elp 'er find 'er money faster!"

Erol felt his breath catch. Terror filled him. He didn't want them to find him.

"Good idea. Ya go look fer the kid, Dagg," the first man, obviously the leader of the group, said.

"NO!" Sola cried. "Leave him alone!"

Erol watched, horrified as the youngest grabbed his mother, and put his knife to her throat, "Why should we?"

"Because that won't help! I don't have the money! If you touch my son," she let the sentence hang.

"Maybe we should take 'im as payment instead." The young man suggested.

The man the other had addressed as 'Dagg' snorted. "A kid? Fer fifteen thousand? Sounds like we're getting ripped."

The last man nodded, "It's hardly payment. Now we're only going to ask you one more time. Where's the money, Sola?"

* * *

Sola stared desperately at the man. "I keep telling you! I DON'T HAVE IT!"

"That's not good enough." The leader snarled, "Ya 'ad it at some point. That means ya still 'ave it somewhere. Ya're just not thinking 'ard enough about where it is."

The blade pressed stronger into her throat, "Just tell us where it is, an' we'll be on our way," a thin trickle of blood began to run down the knife's edge. Sola shoved the young man's arm away, the force catching him off guard and it sent the weapon towards his face, dragging upwards in a diagonal cut that narrowly missed both his eyes. "You little bitch!" he snapped, "You're going to pay for that!"

The leader slammed a hand down onto the man's shoulder, "Cool it, Cutlass," his hard gaze turned to Sola and he shoved his own man out of the way to get to her.

Sola felt her spine jar as he forced her into the wall.

"Now ya're makin' this difficult. Dagg! Scim!" His eyes dug into Sola's as his men replied.

"Yes, Katar?" They spoke in unison.

"Go find 'er kid."

* * *

Erol shrank back into the shadows of the closet as the two men turned and walked to the door. They seemed to have missed him. As they began to walk through the bedroom door Sola let out a shriek.

"Don't touch my son!" She struggled against Katar's hands, "Don't you dare hurt him." She sounded hysterical; her voice had raised an octave higher than it normally was.

Erol bit his lip to keep quiet; tears of utter terror were beginning to leak from his eyes. Why was this happening?

Dagg and Scim barely even hesitated at Sola's words. They walked out into the hallway and moments later there were crashing sounds as they began a furious search.

Katar raised a hand and slapped Sola back across the face. "Ya'd better come up with where that money is before they find 'im. Otherwise, 'e ain't ever goin' te school again."

Colour drained from her face, "No," she stared, shaking her head. "No"

"Yes," blood dripped down Cutlass' face from the cut he'd received, "Unless you can tell us where the money is, 'e's not goin' to last 'til this afternoon."

Erol had no clue what he had to do with all of this, what his mother had to do with all of this. Nothing made sense. His brown eyes remained fixed on the scene before him. He wanted these men to leave.

The crashes and bangs continued on in the background as Dagg and Scim worked their way through the rooms of the house, desperate to find him.

"Ya've got a choice 'ere, Sola. Ya either tell us were the money is. Or ya lose yer son."

"Never."

"Maybe 'e wasn't clear. You're going to tell us one way or the other. Get us the money now or we're killing 'im." Cutlass snarled. "You're losing time. Dagger don't miss much on 'is own, and now 'e's got Scimitar with 'im. Your boy's as good as dead. But it can all be avoided, if you just get us the money right now."

"I _can't_. I can't just produce money I don't have."

"Never said ya could. But that money went somewhere, an' it must still be 'ere somewhere. In some form or another."

Erol couldn't understand, wouldn't understand what was going on. It was just too unreal. Too bizarre. Too difficult to comprehend. The crashes stopped and once again there was the pounding of boots drawing near to the bedroom.

"Katar! We couldn't find 'im. 'Er kid ain't 'ere. In't that right, Scim?"

The other man nodded, "It's true. He can't be here, there's no way. We checked everything."

"Then we only got one choice, don't we?" Katar's eyes flashed dangerously,"We kill 'er instead."

* * *

Sola had never been so relieved and terrified at the same time; two emotions she'd never known could even be felt together. They hadn't found Erol. That was all that really mattered now. It was so hard not to look at the closet, just to make sure, but she knew she couldn't.

Cutlass didn't wait for further instructions. His knife slashed once, twice; Sola let out an earsplitting cry.

Blood dripped from a long deep cut he'd made on her forearm during her attempted counter. A second wound started at her right shoulder and stretched diagonally down her chest. She clapped her hands over it, warm blood spilling out over them.

Katar cracked his knuckles and drew his namesake weapon. Slipping the blade over his fingers he delivered a swift punch to Sola's abdomen, tearing through the soft flesh.

The woman screamed, falling to her knees. Crimson liquid poured from the wound, a flood that would be useless to try and stem. She wrapped her arms around herself, straining to delay the inevitable, fighting for more time. Her brown eyes gazed up at her tormentors, but they no longer appeared to be people. Instead her gaze met with four animals, emotionless, soulless creatures. There would be no mercy found here, ever.

* * *

Erol could only watch helplessly as the men assaulted his mother, blow after blow, wound after wound, cut after cut. He shifted his hands and bit down hard on his knuckle, struggling to stay silent. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth as his teeth forced their way through his skin. Salty tears streamed from his eyes, and still the men continued their beating.

* * *

Sola's throat was raw from screaming, her red-gold hair matted and crusty with dried blood. There seemed to be no escape, no release. All that she had was her pain. Her vision swam, blinded by tears of agony and fear. She begged, pleaded, kneeling there on the floor, there had to be a way to make it end.

That was when she felt it, like the first rays of sun after a thunderstorm, it called to her, beckoned her with open arms, promising a haven from this suffering. Death.

Her body went limp and collapsed to the floor, little more than a husk of once was. Life left a brown eyed stare that would never end as she finally gave in. Her release, her freedom, an end to the pain. Her life was gone.

* * *

From his vantage point in the closet Erol saw the leader straighten, wiping his weapon off on the tattered remains of what had once been Sola's shirt. "Right, well, now we're done wit 'er. She won't be givin' us no more problems." He looked at his men, "Now we get the fun part, don't we? Loot the place. I want everythin' in this 'ouse that might brin' even a single orb in fer us." With a nod at the other three men Katar commanded, "Git to it."

For the second time that day Erol's ears rang with the sound of his home being ransacked. And, for the second time that day, there was no way for him to stop it. He shook, silent tears streaming from his eyes as his mind struggled to comprehend the events which had just taken place.

His mother was lying on the floor, unmoving, staring out at nothing. Blood covered her and pooled messily around her. There was nothing he could do.

He closed his eyes, body wracking with silent sobs as he pleaded mentally for this to all be some sick and twisted dream; to wake up and find his mother there, alive and well. But even his youthful mind could not be so easily deceived.

She was gone. His mother was dead.

The crashes and pounding boots faded away as the men who caused them left, but Erol didn't move. Hours passed, his legs were cramped and stiff from kneeling for so long without a break and his eyes stung, burning with the pain of so many shed tears. He had no clue how long it had been, if it had been days or only minutes, years or just a few hours. The silence of the house was eerie, not a sound could be heard. He was totally alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity there came a sound, the frenzied sound of yet one more person running through the house. A rather familiar voice called out panicky words that seemed welcoming and familiar, but so distant and far away at the same time.

"SOLA?! EROL?!"

The boy made no sound, not one. The idea of being found terrified him, kept him paralyzed.

"SOLA?!"

The voice and feet grew closer.

"EROL?!"

They had nearly reached the bedroom door.

"SOL-" the voice broke off mid-word and the man it belonged to ran in to the bedroom, falling to his knees where the woman's corpse lay.

There was something familiar about the man, but Erol couldn't seem to place him. His mind reeled and fear once again settled in the pit of his stomach.

"Oh god, Sola," the man reached out a shaking hand and brushed some of the hair away from the corpse's face. He closed her eyes, ending the dead stare. "Sola," sobs began to wrack the man's kneeling form.

Erol raised a shaking white hand to the edge of the closet door and pulled it open a hair more. The door creaked, a sound that seemed to split the air and screech loudly after hours of silence.

The man turned towards the sound, his golden eyes just catching a glimpse of a small hand letting go of the door as though it had been burned. "Erol?" his voice was quiet, "Erol, is that you?" He stood slowly, tears now streaming from his eyes and walked to the closet, pulling it open.

Erol screamed; it was a cry of pure terror as this man found him. His solitude had come to an end, but how could he know that this man was safe?

"Erol," the man reached out a hand, "Come here."

The boy didn't move.

"Come on. Come out."

Still he stayed rooted in place, incapable of movement. Part of his mind insisted that he listen to this man, told him that he could be trusted. Reluctantly he reached out a pale and quivering hand; the back of it coated with blood from biting through the skin, and placed it on the man's extended palm. Realization began a quick dawning on him at the contact. His brown eyes met with the man's golden ones.

"Dad?" Erol's voice was hoarse as his mind stopped reeling long enough to comprehend what was happening.

Buir nodded and pulled his son out of the closet, wrapping his arms around the shaking boy.

Erol clung to him, feeling the tears return. He didn't know what else to do. He shuddered and shook; he never wanted his father to let him go.

* * *

Yep, so... that's why he's such a screwed up bugger later on.

FYI: I did NOT steal the idea for this from the story My Immortal by DecemberTwentySixth. That's a collab between myself and her. We tweaked this concept put it in there, but this version has always been mine, and mine alone.

Comment, complain, tell me I'm cruel and inhumane... Go ahead. I already feel like a freak for writing this.


	4. Epilouge

Okay, I haven't done any final editing on this, but I don't think there are many typos or grammer problems. I did a quick skim through but I'm not sure it's enough.

Well, it's the conclusion to Survivor's Guilt. I hope it's okay, endings aren't my forte.

Erol and Torn are Naughty Dogs. Buir and Ripp are mine. Also, I made a quick edit to the whole story, took the H out of Sola's name. I don't feel like explaining why.

* * *

A red haired teen walked up to the door and gave it a test shove. It was locked. Sighing he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. He slid it into the keyhole and turned it. Opening the door he walked in, dropping his bag on the floor.

"I'm home!"

As he'd expected, there was no answer. He kicked off his shoes and shut the door behind him, relocking it.

He turned to head up the stairs to his room and was mildly surprised by a thin cord strung across the stairway, a note attached. The teen smirked, recognizing the messaging system he'd come up with and removed the piece of paper. His father's compact writing filled the page.

_Erol,_

_I'm going out tonight. I'll probably be home around 10:00. Don't leave your homework until after dinner, get it done. I'm going to start laundry tomorrow, so take your dirty clothes to the laundry room. Also, the dishwasher's full. Empty it would you? There are leftovers in the fridge for dinner. If I'm not home by 10:30 don't wait up. _

_See you when I get home,_

_Dad_

Erol smiled, his dad knew him too well. He didn't have homework though, one of the bonuses of actually paying attention in class. He unhooked the string from the stairs and coiled it up.

The house was quiet, too quiet for his liking. He hated the silence, always had; always would. It reminded him too much of those hours he'd spent alone five years ago. He subconsciously rubbed the back of his right hand, feeling the thin, curved line of scar tissue between his second and third knuckles. A shudder ran up his spine and he whipped around, half expecting to see someone there. There wasn't.

"Relax, you're just getting yourself riled up over nothing," he muttered to himself, attempting to ease the silence with the sound of his own voice. It wasn't helping much.

Instead of heading upstairs, Erol turned and walked to the living room where he turned on the radio. It wasn't much noise, but it was enough to keep the silence at bay.

What else had the note told him to do? He was dimly aware that he still held it. There'd been something to do in the kitchen, hadn't there? It wouldn't hurt to check.

He found a note one the dishwasher, this one simply read: _Empty me._ Erol couldn't help but smile. It was like having his father home in an amusing sticky-note form. He peeled it off the appliance and set it on the counter, he'd do it later. He noticed the other note, still gripped in his hand and put it next to its counterpart. He hesitated, the sound of the radio barely made it into the kitchen and the overwhelming silence seemed threatening to return.

Impulsively he opened the dishwasher and began to unload it, noisily putting the dishes away. It took all of five minutes. Once his task was completed Erol leaned back against the counter and for the first time since getting home wondered what his father was actually doing. The message had been pretty vague.

He hated this. The silence was coming back. He needed to hear a voice, desperately. He picked up the phone and dialed. It rang a couple times before it was answered by a dry voice.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Torn?"

"Hey, Erol. What's up?"

The redhead shrugged, even though he knew his friend couldn't see it, "Nothing much, I'm just home by myself. Got bored. What are you doing?"

"Homework, my science teacher's really loading it on right now."

"Ha. I don't have any."

"Show-off, maybe it'd do you some good to get some, you might- Whoa! Hey!"

Erol cringed at Torn's sudden shout.

"Sorry, I'll call you back in a sec."

There was a click and Erol was left wondering what in the world just happened.

Sure enough though Torn called back quickly, "Sorry about that. Metal forks, Ripp, and sockets should not be anywhere near each other."

"You're kidding."

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not, only I know for sure…dumb kid," Torn paused, "So _why _did you call me again?"

"Boredom."

"Right, I'm on the same page now." Through the phone Erol could actually hear the sound of flipping pages on Torn's end. "So…"

Erol sighed, "Sorry, I just…you know how I get when I'm on my own."

For a moment Torn was silent, "Right." Another pause. "I hate science."

"Oh? Why?"

"Cause it's stupid. I don't give a damn about unicellular invertebrates. What is the point of learning this?!"

"You do realize that anything related to medicine involves science, don't you?"

"Yeah, but that's different. That's _interesting_. This stuff it's just things like 'Do you know how many bacteria are on the soles of your feet?' No. And I don't want to know either. Seriously."

* * *

Buir finally got home at quarter to eleven. Erol was still up and awake, though his father's directions had told him not to be. The teen crept down the stairs, "Are you sure you didn't mean back around eleven?" he snapped irritably.

His father jumped, "Erol, I thought you'd be in bed by now."

"And I thought you were going to be back around _ten_."

"I was held up."

"That's awfully descriptive."

"Get off my case, Erol."

The boy crossed his arms, "Why? It seems like you're always on mine."

"That's different, I'm your father."

"Hardly seems fair. You can harass me about things, but I can't do likewise," he continued down the steps, "Where were you anyway?"

"Nowhere important."

"Really?" he raised an eyebrow skeptically; he now stood on the stair one step above the floor and less than arms' reach away from Buir.

"Erol, go to bed," Buir commanded. Erol didn't move. "Now." The man pointed up the stairs bringing his arm very close to his son.

The redhead caught the lingering traces of a sweet scent on his father's clothing. He immediately knew what it was – perfume. His eyes widened as he glared at the man before him, he grabbed his father's arm and shoved it away from him angrily. "You went on a _date_?" he snapped, utterly disgusted, "How do you live with yourself?"

Buir gave Erol a quizzical look, "Who said I went on a date?"

"Don't play dumb. The perfume on the clothes is a big indicator. So, unless you've decided to go 'trans' on me, which seems unlikely…"

"Maybe I was at a business meeting."

"You weren't. You can't enough scent for me to notice at a business meeting. And besides, you would've just told me if it was a business meeting. You freak, Dad," Erol shook his head, "I can't believe you."

"Erol…"

"Don't 'Erol' me!"

"Calm down."

"No. Why should I? You're doing it again!"

Buir looked genuinely confused, "What am I doing?"

"Replacing her!"

The man looked shocked, "Erol, I could never replace your mother."

"Then why bother trying to?!"

"I…Erol…" Buir raised a hand to put on his son's shoulder.

The teen slapped it away, "Leave me alone!" and with that he turned and ran back up the stairs to his room, slamming the door behind him. Angry tears stung his eyes as he went and sat down on his bed, he put one hand beneath the pillow, searching for the item he kept there. It didn't take him long to find it, it was the only thing there.

It was the last picture that had ever been taken of his mother, only about a week before the incident. All three of them were in it; Erol had no idea who'd been taking the picture, details like that slipped his mind constantly.

He barely even needed to look at it; just the feel of the photo in his hand was comforting. He hugged his knees to his chest and just sat like that for a while, staring out at nothing.

Why hadn't Buir just told him it was a date? Sure, his reaction wouldn't have been much better, but still…his father was lying to him, yet for some reason seemed to think that Erol would always be honest. It was so hypocritical.

The teen's fists clenched angrily, why was everything so difficult all of a sudden? He wanted to scream.

He heard Buir come up the stairs, and was only mildly surprised when his father came into his room.

"Go away, Dad."

"Erol, I think we need to talk."

"No. Shut up. Go away. Leave me alone," he leaned over to turn off the light on his bedside table. "I'm going to sleep."

"Don't be like this."

"Like what? According to you and your notes I was supposed to be in bed about an hour ago. Now I'm getting in trouble for listening? What the hell do you want from me?"

"We need to talk." Buir repeated, walking over to turn the light back on.

Erol glared at his father. "Fine. We'll talk."

Buir sat down on his bed and Erol inwardly moaned; this was going to be a long talk. "I know that it's a hard thing to accept but-"

That was as far as Erol let him get, it had to be a new record, less than a sentence. "No way, I never would have guessed. Who would have thought that?" his tone dripped sarcasm. "You just don't get it Dad."

"Then help me 'get it.'"

"No. You don't understand and you never will."

"Because you won't let me."

Erol turned away, he knew it was true, his reluctance to talk made dealing with it difficult. "Leave me alone."

"Not until you elaborate on this."

"I don't want to."

Buir stood up, exasperated, "Fine, be that way. But you have no right to complain anymore. You're not the only one who cared about her, Erol; I lost my wife that day." He began to head towards the door.

Erol looked up and watched him go, his stomach churning, "Dad?"

Buir turned around, "Yes?"

He turned away again, "Never mind."

"Good night, Erol."

"Night Dad," he muttered, lying down. Buir was about to shut the door when Erol sat up again, "Dad?"

Buir didn't respond, but he stopped mid motion and glanced over his shoulder.

"Sorry I keep snapping. It's just…"

"It's just…?" his father came back into the room and sat down next to him, putting an arm around Erol's shoulders.

Erol grabbed Buir in a desperate hug, "I remember every detail of that day, and you don't – can't – but…" he found himself on the verge of tears, "I don't think I'll ever forget. And then you go and do something like this," the tears were actually starting to fall and he couldn't keep talking.

The man wrapped his arms around the teen holding him close, "Shh," he murmured softly, "It's alright."

"You…you just have no idea what it's like…" Erol muttered, regaining control over his emotions. He leaned against his father and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. He drew one last wavering breath and looked at Buir, "I think I'll go to sleep now."

"Alright, see you in the morning." And with that, Buir slid his arms from Erol's shoulders and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Erol lay down, sighing. He was never going to get used to the dating thing, but he knew he'd have to at least desensitize himself to it. It was tearing him and Buir apart. The last thing he wanted was to lose his dad as well.

* * *

Was that an okay ending?

There's more about Erol in my other story A Family Ripped and Torn, though I bet you can guess who that story mainly focuses on. He will be in there a lot however, so if you're so inclined I suggest going to take a look.

Comments? Pretty please?


End file.
